A Psalm of Freudian Life

Tell me not in mormonful numbers

      “Life is but an empty dream!”

To a student of the slumbers

      Things are never what they seem.

Life is yearning and suppression;

      Life is that to be enjoyed;

Puritanical discretion

      Was not spoke by Dr. Freud.

Deep enjoyment, and not sorrow,

      Is our destined end or way;

But to dream, that each to-morrow

      Finds us Freudier than to-day.

Sleep is long, and dreams are straying,

      And our hearts, though they may falter,

Still, like sexiphones, are playing

      Wedding marches to the altar.

In the universal battle,

      In the seraglio of life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle—

      Beat your husband—or your wife.

Trust no dame, however pleasant!

      Leave the dead ones on the shelf!

Act—act in the living present!

      Nothing matters but Yourself.

Wives of great men all remind us

      We can make our lives a serial,

And, departing, leave behind us

      Biographical material.

Stories that perhaps another

      Sailing o’er life’s Freudian sea—

A forlorn and dream-racked brother—

      Reading, might say, “How like me!”

Let us then be up and doing,

      With a heart for any mate;

Now eluding, nor pursuing,

      Learn to individuate.